


Why Am I Here?

by gnetophyta



Series: Why Am I Here? [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Iwaizumi's mind gets progressively more perverted, M/M, Oikawa is a yoga instructor because why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-22 15:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3734326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnetophyta/pseuds/gnetophyta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iwaizumi Hajime lives a simple life revolving around volleyball, working out for volleyball, and his studies. There isn't much room for relationships, but he can't complain too much. When he begins to have some muscle trouble that gets in the way of his favorite sport, Suga and Daichi suggest that he join them in their yoga class. His yoga instructor turns out to be stupidly attractive, but also incredibly annoying...despite himself, Hajime and his particular brand of angry seduction keep going to the class to see what happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. everything hurts

Hajime grunted, having successfully contacted yet another perfect set during the team’s warm-up. Sugawara Koushi, the mostly-angelic setter with a mischievous streak a mile wide, beamed up at him.

“That one was great too, Iwaizumi! Good work!”

Hajime made a noncommittal sound, grabbing ahold of his right shoulder and rolling it around experimentally.

“Is your shoulder stiff again?” Suga asked.

“It’s fine,” Hajime muttered through gritted teeth, trying to be casual around his part-time team parent and full-time friend. Suga had been noticing that his spikes were becoming more and more limited in range as his shoulder became tighter, and Iwaizumi really wasn’t up to getting a talking-to from him. Not at all. When his dark eyes met Suga's amber ones, Hajime knew he had already lost the battle.

“You’ve been acting like it’s fine, but don’t forget that we’re older than we used to be! You can’t get away with not stretching like you did when we played in high school. Especially now that we lift more weights.” Hajime sighed. Suga was right, like he always was. His ability to be right 120% of the time was borderline uncanny, and almost uncomfortable. A third voice distracted Suga from his forthcoming Speech, and Hajime took a moment to thank whatever deity was looking out for him when he saw who it was. A 10-megawatt smile broke out on Suga’s fair face when he saw Sawamura Daichi jogging over to the two of them, and Hajime threw up his free hand by way of greeting.

“Hey, Iwaizumi! Shoulder still bugging you?” Sawamura asked, leaning into Suga’s side and planting a quick kiss on his cheek. Hajime briefly wondered if their years of dating had made Sawamura somehow acquire Suga’s sixth sense by osmosis.

“Still? It’s fine.” Hajime stated simply, avoiding eye contact.

“Uh-uh. Coach would have you hung if you knew you were injured and didn’t tell him until it was too late.” And there was Sawamura’s professional parenting. Really, it was no surprise that he and Suga had started dating because it seemed as though they had been two halves to a whole since birth (probably). Being friends with the two wasn’t easy, however; though they were never patronizing or condescending, their combined sage-like wisdom made him feel like a 21-year-old toddler waddling down the road of life.

Sawamura also wasn’t wrong about their coach being a force to be reckoned with. As much as they loved and respected coach Ukai, the bleach blonde chain-smoker could be as crotchety and temperamental as the gods of Greek legends. The three friends turned to look at the man in question, who was sitting on a bench by one of the net poles. He always wore the same black tracksuit (jacket unzipped to exactly a third of the way down) and scowl, arms crossed in front of his chest. Ukai’s brow was furrowed in thought, presumably over the scores of play diagrams on the floor at his feet. He harrumphed from time to time, and scribbled notes with a red pen.

“Whenever I feel that life’s changing too quickly, I come here and see how some things are constant.” Suga laughed, a musical sound, and then cuffed Sawamura on the shoulder. “You should warm up too, old man.”

“You’re older than I am, Suga!” 

Suga tutted and shoved a practice volleyball into his Sawamura’s hands. Hajime watched the exchange while working his sore shoulder, wondering how the couple managed to be so stupidly perfect. It drove him insane, sometimes. After a series of disastrous relationships, and a subsequent break (drought), Hajime was about ready to try dating again. It was just hard to imagine himself meeting anyone that fit as well with him as Sawamura and Suga fit each other. Just as that thought flitted through his tired mind, he saw Suga punch Sawamura in the stomach and smile, saying, “You’re too tense; your receives are going to be off!” Hajime shook his head, the corner of his mouth quirked up.

 

 

The nagging discomfort in his shoulder didn’t go away as Hajime had planned. It had hunkered down for the long haul, and subtly reminded him of its presence every time he picked up a weight, swung at a volleyball, or even put on his shirt. The only major change he could recall before the stupid joint had acted up was the fact that he had started putting in more time at the gym; that couldn’t have hurt his shoulder, right? Strengthening it wouldn’t make it feel this stiff and creaky, would it? He contemplated his muscles over lunch break, and shoved the irritating joint out of his mind for his afternoon classes.

 

 

A few days later, at practice, Suga managed to be present every single time Iwaizumi so much as thought about his shoulder. He just gave him a warm smile and puttered on about his activities, acting like he hadn’t just guilted Hajime. Suga acted all innocent, but he knew what he was doing. Maybe Hajime was just projecting his own paranoia, but he was pretty confident that Suga was performing some brain martial arts with that smile of his.

 

 

Two weeks passed, and the shoulder, while not being completely useless, was still giving Hajime grief. The sad part was that his calves had begun teaming up with the idiotic shoulder, making practices go from torturously fun to just torturous. Once again, after they had been dismissed, Suga morphed into his peripheral vision with a hot pack.

“Daichi’s going to get jealous if you keep paying this much attention to me, Suga,” Hajime teased, taking the offered relief. Sawamura, as though summoned, appeared at Suga's side and put his chin on his shoulder.

“Hardly. Suga only likes stoic, tan, dark-haired volleyball players and-“ Sawamura stopped, lips pressed together, realizing that both he and Hajime fell under all those categories. Suga and Hajime just laughed at Sawamura’s growing embarrassment.

“Well, you’re right about those, but I’m more about legs than arms, sorry Iwaizumi.” Koushi shrugged, firmly patting Sawamura’s right thigh. “That’s a nice leg, right there.” A blush rose violently up Sawamura’s neck and Suga gave him an innocent smile. Hajime rolled his eyes at the pair, trying to loosen up his calves by stretching against the wall.

“You could wait until I’m gone, Sugawara, you know that?” Hajime offered, grimacing as he worked the tension out of his left leg.

“I could, but it’s a lot more fun to embarrass him in public.” That mischievous glint crossed Suga’s eyes, and Sawamura spluttered out something that may or may not have been language. “Ah, what I did want to talk to you about was your muscles.” Hajime raised a curious eyebrow. “Not like that, you goose. I think your pain is just from all the stress you’ve been putting them under since we started our summer training, and I think you’d benefit from a little stretching. You should come with us to yoga!” Hajime fixed Suga with the blankest look he could muster, but it faltered in the light radiating from Suga’s smile. He diverted his eyes to Sawamura’s, but he was nodding, as though he was insisting Hajime accept the offer.

“Yoga.”

“Yes.”

“Are you serious?”

“Am I ever not? Don’t answer that.” The second sentence was directed at the chuckling Sawamura.

“Ugh.”

“Just try it once. I’m not asking you to become a religious follower, just that you try it once.” Hajime sent a pleading look at Sawamura, who replied with the formal, no-no-nonsense response to ever exist.

“Actually, I was reluctant to go the first time, but I really do feel a lot more comfortable moving on the court now. It makes you really limber!” That was no help. “I’m going to go change. I’ll see you two in the locker rooms.” With that, Sawamura walked away, leaving Hajime to wilt under Suga’s scrutiny. Hajime knew Daichi had left on purpose; it was impossible to say no to Suga when he asked you to do something in that unassumingly sweet tone.

“So, what do you think? Just the one time? Tomorrow at 6:30? I’ve already texted you the address and you should wear comfortable clothes. Bring water and your student ID. Okay? Great!” Suga strolled out of the gym, leaving Hajime in his wake, wondering at what point he had actually consented to going.

 

* * *

 

 

Daichi looked contemplatively from the curry in his bowl to Suga and back. His full-time boyfriend and part-time trickster had a devious look on his face, and Daichi wanted to know why. To the casual observer, Sugawara Koushi had a blissful smile on his lips, and was quietly enjoying a warm meal with a loved one. To those who knew him much better than that, Koushi was plotting. And how.

“Koushi?”

“Hm?” The amber eyes snapped out of their reverie.

“Why are we going to the 6:30 class and not the 7:30? Weren’t you the one that said it was easier to make the later one?”

“Ah, I thought it would be easier for Iwaizumi to make it and then have an evening free to do his homework.”

“We have homework, too, and that hasn’t stopped us, has it?”

“This is true, but I felt we could change our routine a little!”

“Koushi…”

“Yes, handsome?”

“I know you’re going to change the topic in a minute, so why don’t you just tell me why you insisted on going to the 6:30 class.” Daichi fixed Koushi with a firm look, and the latter balked. Suga had always been able to be sneaky, but the years they had spent together had taught Daichi to read him a little too well.

“Remember that time you couldn’t make it a few weeks ago, and my late class was cancelled? Well, I went to the 6:30 class so we could still make our dinner reservation.” Suga began his explanation like he hadn’t been caught skirting the issue. “The instructor was different than ours, and I thought he may suit Iwaizumi’s taste a bit better.”

“Does he scowl and grunt in lieu of speaking?”

“No, actually. He’s the opposite of Iwaizumi, and I think that may encourage him more. “

“Suga, are you baiting him with an attractive instructor?” Daichi’s tone was nothing short of accusatory.

“No!” Koushi popped some food into his mouth and avoided his boyfriend’s dark eyes.

“Kouuuushi.”

“Okay, yes! I know he’s not the yoga type, but if he can get all his muscles stretched out, he’ll be hitting even better! Plus, he hasn’t been on a date in forever and maybe-“

“You know, sometimes you really earn the title of team meddler.” Koushi put his bowl down on the table with a clatter and stood up, chair grating on the wooden floor. He grabbed Daichi by the collar and whispered in his ear.

“You’re being bad, you know? Bad, bad, bad Daichi. What will I do with you, hm?” Both of Daichi’s eyebrows rose up as he got dragged down the hallway, but not before he caught that twinkle in Suga’s eye. So much for dinner, he mused, as the bedroom door shut behind them.

 

 

Daichi glanced over Suga’s bare shoulder to see the clock. It read 6:05, giving them very little time to get dressed and get over to the yoga studio.

“You know that you can’t just use sex to distract me every time I see through your attempts to talk your way out of something, right?”

“I can do what I please, Sawamura Daichi, and it’s not like you’re complaining.”

“True.”

 

 

Iwaizumi was nervous, and was really agitated with himself as a result. He leaned casually outside the door to the yoga studio, feigning nonchalance, but the repeated glances at his phone gave him away. It was unlike Sawamura and Suga to be late; if anything, Hajime should have been the one strolling up at 6:29, hands in his warm-up jacket pockets. He was so out of his element, and he had not seen a single other male entering the doors in the last fifteen minutes. If those two bailed, he thought, he was going to aim every serve at their heads for the foreseeable future. As though they had read his mind, Suga and Sawamura rounded the corner, both clutching colorful rolls of…something.

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t make it.”

“And skip yoga? Never! After you!” Suga smiled, opening the door for Hajime, who puffed his chest before entering. Sawamura offered his boyfriend a grin, grabbing the door and gesturing him through.

“Your fault we’re late, Koushi.” He whispered. The look he got in response held a promise of a _very_ late night. The three filed neatly into a changing room to the left of the main studio, and quickly got into their clothes. Hajime had not been sure what constituted yoga-appropriate, but after a quick internet search (in the incognito window, obviously), he opted for a pair of volleyball shorts and an old, sleeveless shirt from high school. Sawamura and Suga were both wearing some sort of fancy-looking long-sleeved shirts and their volleyball shorts, so Hajime figured he didn’t stick out too badly.

“Suga, I accidentally grabbed one of your shirts.” Sawamura looked down to see his broad chest struggling with the too-small fabric, then resignedly at Suga, who actually giggled, and shoved his boyfriend towards the exit.

“Nobody will complain about it, I promise, Daichi. Least of all me.” Hajime groaned at the two of them. “You look nice, too, Iwaizumi!” Suga added, offhandedly, before grabbing those two rolls that Hajime couldn’t identify.

Since they had arrived later than most of the other participants, the only available space was at the front of the throng, where they were only separated from the full wall of mirrors by a single galaxy-printed mat. Daichi unrolled his and Suga’s mats – so that’s what the rolls were, Hajime murmured – and Suga bounded over with a spare one for Hajime. Sawamura and Hajime chatted while their social butterfly of a setter caught up with all of the girls that he had met the previous time he had gone to the early session.

“I can almost hear them falling in love with him. I almost feel bad, but then I realize the same thing happened to me.” Sawamura watched his favorite bright face talk animatedly and gesture as he told some story to the gaggle of eager women. Hajime sighed. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Hajime really couldn’t begrudge them their happiness, but he was jealous. Only a little bit. If only someone amazing could walk into his life like that. Just then, a lean, tall and _unfairly, impossibly_ beautiful example of humanity came in the side door, carding a hand through his feathery mess of brown hair.

“Hiiii, Toooru!” a chorus of female voices echoed, and a smug Suga elbowed Sawamura in Hajime’s direction. Hajime wasn’t gaping, but he wasn’t _not_ gaping at this stunning man. His effortless ease at weaving through the mats, waving at some girls, throwing up a peace sign and sticking his tongue out for others – okay, maybe the last two weren’t exactly ideal, but Hajime was confident he could ignore those things. The man known as Tooru caught Hajime’s eyes with his own and gave him an unmistakable wink. Hajime was rooted to the spot, fighting down the heat in his cheeks. ‘I’m a grown man, I don’t blush,’ he repeated like a mantra while their instructor tried to bore a hole in Hajime’s head _with his eyes._ Tooru wasn’t wearing anything special, just a fitted t-shirt and a pair of shorts, but he carried himself well. Almost too well. 

“It looks like we have some new faces here, and all my favorite ones too!” While Hajime was trying to be entranced by how smooth his voice was, that stupid little wave was getting on his nerves. Tooru put a slender hand on his hip and looked out over the group before him. “Shall we get started?”

It took Hajime a total of five minutes to get thoroughly irritated with the cloyingly sweet cadence of Tooru’s voice, and how he got so flirtatious with _everyone else_ in the room. Maybe his rage was as a result of the impossible “downward whatever” position he was in, but Hajime wasn’t having any of this yoga business. His shoulders hurt, his hamstrings were on fire, a large part of his back was about to quit being a part of his body, and he, by some miracle, may have pulled a butt muscle. Ten minutes. It took ten minutes for him to fully break. He looked over at Sawamura and Suga, who were happily stretching, a light sheen of sweat on their faces. Stupid Suga and stupid Sawamura.

“Oooh, new guy, you look so stiff! Your posture is terrible! Let me help.” Hajime would have lashed out and head butted insufferably calm Tooru if his screaming muscles hadn’t locked him into some awful yoga position.

“I’m fine.”

“Oh, you are bad liar. Here.” Hajime bristled when he felt Tooru’s hands on his hips shifting him ever so slightly in the direction of more pain.

“What did you do that for, idiot?”

“So mean! I just fixed you all up. Now hold that for a little bit longer.” He stuck his tongue out and winked again, and upside-down Hajime seethed. He could’ve sworn he heard Suga giggling from two mats over, but he couldn’t be sure.

The rest of the hour of pain was punctuated by Hajime yelling insults at Tooru, Sawamura trying to calm a hysterically laughing Suga, and well-directed judgement from the rest of the class in attendance. Tooru took Hajime's pain-fueled insults in stride, taking particular satisfaction in rearranging the his body in such a way that made all his muscles hurt _more_.

When Tooru announced the class was over and thanked everyone for coming, Hajime was confident his life had left him. He was sprawled across his mat, staring blankly into space, trying not to feel every muscle in his body. His eyes were trained on a spot in the middle of the ceiling when a handsome face rudely interrupted his staring contest with the tile.

“Did you have fun?” Tooru was giving him a face-splitting grin, like he wasn’t the world’s biggest sadist.

“No.”

“Aww, don’t hurt my feelings!” The wounded ego act was a weak front; Hajime could see that Tooru’s eyes spoke a great deal more than his running mouth did.

“Everything hurts.”

“It’ll feel better by the morning, I promise.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then you’ll have to come back and I’ll try again.” Hajime scoffed. “We never met properly, either. I’m Oikawa Tooru!” Hajime extended a trembling hand towards Tooru’s. He had a surprisingly strong grip and big hands. Hard to tell from a distance, Hajime thought, then got angry with his hormones for betraying him. He hates Tooru. Tooru is the bane of his existence. 

“Iwaizumi Hajime.”

“That’s a nice, manly name. Well, I have to go tend to my admirers, Iwa-chan. See you next week!” Oikawa threw on a blue and white jacket and showed him a peace sign as he walked off towards a gaggle of excited girls. Hajime resumed staring at the ceiling until Sawamura and Suga each grabbed one of his arms and hauled him to his feet.

“Iwa-chan? What the hell? Am I a toddler? Who is this guy?” Suga carefully steered the increasingly rage-filled Hajime towards the change room.

“He’s got personality, though, doesn’t he?” Sugawara was trying to make the best of the situation, meeting Sawamura’s apologetic glances with disappointed ones.

“I want to stab him with our net antennae.”

“He grows on you, I promise.”

“Like a weed, probably.”

“But how does your body feel?”

“Terrible.” Yes, Hajime felt really sore, but also strangely light. He chalked that up to hormones and stalked out of the studio ahead of Sawamura and Suga.

 


	2. verbal abuse is as close as he gets to flirting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hajime thinks he's allergic to Oikawa, but goes back to yoga anyway.

The couple increased their pace to catch up with the wayward Hajime, who was leaving behind a nearly visible cloud of fury.

“So, you didn’t like it?” Suga started, in his best comforting voice, a hand on Hajime’s shoulder. Daichi caught up, flanking Iwaizumi.

“I don’t think I’m a yoga kind of guy, Suga.” Hajime felt his anger dissipating; it wasn’t Koushi that he was mad at, nor his attempts at helping him feel better. “Plus, that guy is a certifiable tool. I don’t think I’ve heard so many words spoken by a human in an hour, and that _arrogance_. I think I’m allergic to people like him.” Koushi and Daichi each placed a hand on Iwaizumi’s shoulders, though he didn’t know why. It’s not like he was gravely ill or had lost anything of significance going to yoga. He wasn’t really cut out for it, but it’s not like he had become any less of a human for having gone. “Why are you doing the mom and dad flank-and-comfort thing?” Daichi and Suga exchanged a complex and unreadable facial expression before letting their hands drop.

“I really don’t know. I just felt compelled? You’ve been stressed.”

“Suga’s rubbing off on you, Daichi. Be careful. You’ll be packing the team’s bento boxes before the year’s out.” Hajime shoved Daichi playfully, his eyebrow arched; the other man just shrugged, resigned to his fate. Iwaizumi received a bonk on the head from his unflappable, innocently smiling setter in response. “Ow! Suga, how can you pretend it wasn’t you that just hit me?!”

“I’m not pretending!” He blinded Hajime with a grin. “I was just dealing out karmic retribution.” Iwaizumi just stared at him, eyes narrowed to slits. Daichi just walked quietly next to the two of them, observing, as he was wont to do.

“Why everyone thinks you’re angelic is beyond me.” Suga shrugged in an easy, slow way, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say I’m _angelic_.” The look that followed was in _no way_ directed at Hajime, but instead at a slyly smirking Daichi.

“OKAY, save the eye sex for later. Please.”

“Sorry.” Daichi scratched the back of his head sheepishly, but Suga just mouthed, “I’m not” at his embarrassed boyfriend.

“I guess you won’t be joining us next week?” Daichi aggressively steered the conversation away from something that Suga may very well turn into innuendo. He hadn’t the faintest idea what had gotten into the silver-haired man in recent weeks, but it was…good. Just not socially appropriate, really.

“Yeah, no. Thanks for trying, but I’ll try to stretch after practice.” Suga hummed in reply.

They parted ways after the next block, Suga and Daichi turning the corner to their apartment and Hajime catching the train back to his. He rolled his shoulders experimentally as he sat, finding them strangely looser. Huh. How odd.

 

 

At the next practice, Hajime’s shoulder was not miraculously fixed, but it wasn’t any worse. He thanked his lucky stars for the small reprieve, and threw himself headlong into the team scrimmage.

 

 

“Suga, he’s not going to go again. We already tried this.”

“Yes, he is. I think we should go be moral support.”

“How do you know these things?”

“His shoulder felt a little better; I could tell.”

“And you think that’s reason enough?”

“Iwaizumi is really stubborn and doesn’t like to be proved wrong, but he’s also not stupid. If yoga is what makes his shoulder stop hurting, then he’ll keep doing it. I also think that he is attracted enough to Oikawa to ignore how… _cheerful_ he is.”

“Arrogant?”

“ _Bright._ ”

“I’ll bet you dinner he doesn’t show up.”

“You’re on!”

 

 

 

The next Thursday night found Iwaizumi glowering darkly at the yoga studio like it had personally offended generations of his ancestors, hands buried deep in his pockets. His back was rounded, braced against the uncharacteristically brisk September wind. He was even _early._ What was that about? Why was he here? But really, why was he here? Hajime had shown up to exact his revenge on Oikawa, of course. If _Tooru_ was going to be such a smug little shit with his absurdly flexible body, Iwaizumi was going to show him. Hajime wasn’t remotely in the same universe when it came to flexibility, but he was going to – what was he going to do? Again, he asked himself. Why _was_ he here? His brain really struggled to remember the plan he had outlined prior to leaving his house.

“Ugh.” He muttered to nobody in particular, pushing open the door to Hell. Hajime changed quickly, stepping into the studio space. He was taken aback when he saw Suga and Daichi already comfortable, sitting in the same area they had the previous week. His charming setter turned his head while taking a swig of water, and visibly choked when he caught sight of Iwaizumi. Daichi looked over at his boyfriend, concerned, and smacked him on the back as he coughed up some liquid. Suga rasped out a hello to Hajime and Daichi followed suit, realizing he was standing behind him. Iwaizumi really hadn’t counted on the two of them being there this early, but he supposed it wouldn’t change anything. Their royal instructor probably only showed up after all of his doting subjects did. Idiot.

“Did you accidentally borrow one of my shirts, too, Iwaizumi?” The man being addressed avoided Suga’s eyes and muttered something incomprehensible to divert attention from his blush. Hajime had opted for a _form-fitting_ (which was a gross understatement from every possible angle) sleeveless shirt for tonight’s activities, leaving little to the imagination. Nothing, almost. It’s not like he had anything to hide; he was all firm and sculpted, but still lean enough to jump high with ease. The shirt choice had everything to do with his half-baked plan – what was it, again? Revenge? Yes, revenge on that stupid fairy prince called Oikawa Tooru.

“I just forgot to do laundry.” Hajime replied as coolly as he could manage, but his refusal to make eye contact was not something Suga would miss.

“Uh…uh.” Daichi _and_ Suga were wearing matching expressions that subtly said “bullshit, but we won’t call you on it.” The sentiment was appreciated. Hajime went and got himself a mat, placing it by Daichi’s side again. He plopped down, cross-legged, and sighed a world-weary sigh.

“I have so many assignments due next week that I’ve started calculating how many points I’d miss if I didn’t hand them in.” He groaned, looking over at Daichi and Suga, who murmured their agreement.

“I never thought there would be a point at which I would rather mop my floors than do homework, but I’m here! The amount of readings I have to do is insane. If this is our third year, what is next year going to be like?” Suga slumped visibly, miming the flipping of countless pages. Iwaizumi had assumed that Koushi could have gotten a psychology degree simply by showing up and breathing, but as it turns out, there were some things the man had yet to learn.

“Probably worse.” Daichi thought ahead to all the economic theories awaiting him. It was bad enough that he already felt like he was floundering; the prospect of _harder_ classes unsettled him.

“That’s the spirit, Daichi.” Hajime punched him in the shoulder. He too was terrified; his last year was going to be consumed by his final design project and all his engineering electives. Would he even have time for volleyball? The thought honestly scared him a little. The three fell into easy conversation (complaining about college), oblivious to the people slowly filtering in behind them. They didn’t have too much time to bury themselves in scholastic misery because the spectacular presence that was Oikawa Tooru showed up ten minutes later. Iwaizumi bristled immediately upon hearing the obnoxious “yoo-hoo~” from the corner of the room.

“I hope everyone had a wonderful week, even the-” It was a minute pause, a flicker across the plastic smile on his face, but Hajime caught it. Oikawa had _definitely_ caught sight of Iwaizumi in his restrictively tight shirt, and had _definitely_ noticed the curve of his deltoids, biceps, forearms- “-grumpier of our guests! Let’s all join together spiritually, class!” Iwaizumi gagged, but complied, mirroring Tooru’s pose. Once again, every movement was utter pain and torture, but the fire of vengeance burned deep within Hajime, and he found a new way to express his distaste with each bizarre contortion of his limbs. Suga murmured to Daichi during a sun salutation: “I think he’s actually created seven new shades of scowl since the start of class.”

“He’s impressive in that way.” Daichi replied simply, willing his neck muscles to cooperate. Iwaizumi was sweating profusely, the muscles in his shoulders trembling in that _stupid stupid stupid_ downward whatever pose, and it was then, _of course it was,_ that the idiot fairy prince decided to grace Hajime with his presence.

“Ah, Iwa-chan! I see I didn’t help you enough last week, and you came back!”

“Ugh.” Think of an insult, Hajime, think of an insult. “Assikawa.” That will do.

“Rude! I think I’ll still help you with your terrible posture, even if you are mean.” It was very difficult to rage at someone with your butt waggling high in the air and blood in your face, but Hajime tried. He really did. It was all he could do to not throw a leg out and knock Oikawa’s legs out from under him, but Iwaizumi was instantly disarmed when those lithe fingers ran down the planes of his shoulder blades and pushed on the firm muscle of his deltoids. Tooru’s touch lingered just a touch too long, and Hajime thought about it a little too hard, and he made some strange noise in his throat when Oikawa removed his hands.  He also made the mistake of looking over in the mirror at the compromising position the taller man had put them in; Hajime felt like he was in dress rehearsals for an awkward yoga porno. He could see it now: corny mentions of flexibility, lewd use of whatever those blocks in the corner were…the Iwaizumi Hajime freight train of thought hit the side of a mountain and exploded into a million tiny, innuendo-filled pieces. Maybe it had been too long since he had last gotten laid, Hajime idly thought, and that was why he was reddening for another reason altogether. The next useless pose that Tooru had insisted they do was akin to what a starfish would look like if it were asked to perform ‘Annie’ after a few drinks at the karaoke bar. The power of Iwaizumi’s scowl lost a good percentage of its potency when perpendicular to the floor, he found, since the idiot Oikawa was just smirking at him in a most pleased way as he walked the class through the pose change. Oikawa’s smile was insistent and challenging; Iwaizumi could see that Tooru knew how to play the game, and it was now a competition to see who was better at it. Hajime had never been more infuriated at seeing a human being smile before. He just wanted to wipe it off Oikawa’s pretty face with as much gusto as possible. As though Tooru sensed the animosity, he changed the pose to something that balance-challenged Hajime wasn’t entirely okay with.

“Oh, lovely Suga-kun, you always do the poses so well.” Suga bowed his head as much as he could with his arms raised above his head; the man was so uncomfortable receiving praise. “You and Stoic Boyfriend-kun have much better posture than angry Iwa-chan over there.” Iwaizumi wobbled on one leg, heel pressed into his thigh, and arms stretched to the ceiling. Concentrating on pure, unadulterated hatred in and of itself was difficult; adding balancing on one leg to the mix, and something had to go.

“Why are they –kun, and you call me Iwa-chan?” Tooru blatantly ignored him in favor of chatting up a petite brunette in the back row, who blushed at the attention. Hajime collapsed like a sack of potatoes, not regretting his decision to focus on rage rather than balance.

“Silly Iwa-chan. You need to clear your mind and relax!” Oikawa stuck his tongue out to the side and winked, still balancing perfectly on one leg. Hajime had murder in his eyes. They finished out the hour with Iwaizumi’s favorite pose: the one where he kneeled and then just smashed his face against his knees to put himself out of his misery. He groaned appreciatively for the moment of peace he was allowed at the end of class. Oikawa led them through some inane breathing exercises, but Hajime was fairly confident in his ability to breathe. Twenty-some-odd years of practicing had made him quite proficient, thank you very much. Oikawa’s voice faded into the distance. He hadn’t the faintest idea of how long he had been dozing in that position, but a warm hand pressing on Hajime’s lower back brought him back out of his stupor.

“I’m fine, Suga, give me a moment.” Iwaizumi mumbled, slowly righting his torso to see that the owner of the hand wasn’t, in fact, Suga at all. It was a surprisingly gentle-looking Oikawa with his head tilted to the side.

“Iwa-chan, did you fall asleep?” Hajime’s eyes darted left and right and noticed that there was nobody left around him. “Your friends are waiting for you! I don’t know how you have such nice friends when you’re so sulky and mean all the time, but-”

“Shut up, idiot.”

“Exactly~!” Tooru’s hand was still on Hajime’s lower back, and their faces were about a foot apart. Iwaizumi eyes shot open, having only then noticed their uncomfortable proximity and he extended one of his broad palms to push Oikawa out of the way. Using his face. The taller man squeaked and fell on his butt.

“Iwaizumi!” Suga hissed, his face poking out from the doorway. Hajime hadn’t really thought twice about the action, but Suga’s hands were on his hips and he looked ready to raise a huff. Standing up, Iwaizumi extended a hand to the frazzled looking Oikawa, who looked baffled by the gesture. He grasped the offered hand and was easily pulled to his feet, replacing his bewildered expression with that carefully cultivated look of seductive superiority.  

“Oh, thank you, Prince Charming!” Oikawa chirped, mind reeling at how easily this man had almost picked him up with _one arm._ Tooru wasn’t one to gawk or get flustered, but this was as close as he would get. Plus, that shirt was criminally tight, and Tooru wanted it to spontaneously combust here and now. He idly wondered if it were possible to burn it off with a smoldering gaze, but soon realized it was not. When Oikawa’s eyes returned to an appropriate height for person-to-person interaction, he saw Iwaizumi’s hard, yet curious gaze trained on him, one sharp eyebrow raised. “So, did you have fun today, hmm?” Hajime marveled at how quickly the man flashed from one character to another.

“No.”

“Ah, there is no pleasing Iwa-chan!” Something less than innocent flashed behind those big brown eyes.

“That’s true.” Hajime walked away and into the change room, leaving a stunned Oikawa in his wake. Suga skittered into the studio after his departure and approached Tooru for a chat.

 

 

Hajime was loath to admit it, but after just two sessions of idiot yoga with idiot Oikawa, his shoulders and back were feeling a little looser. He was still experiencing stiffness in cutting the ball at certain angles on the court, but overall, he really couldn’t complain. This made him angry. He wanted nothing more than to still be sore and useless so he could lord Oikawa’s inadequacy over him, but Hajime had no ammunition for that fight. All he could do was either keep going to yoga and trying to assert his dominance over that idiot of an instructor (assert his dominance? What was he, a dog?), or switch to another class taught by someone less…everything. Iwaizumi had to be honest with himself, for once, and he realized that he would much rather suffer outrageous waves of rage while in the presence of an offensively gorgeous man than have a peaceful stretching period with an emotionally balanced, homely one. Maybe this is why all his relationships ended in spectacular failure. Hajime couldn’t help himself.

 

 

“Daichi, why are you getting ready so early?”

“Aren’t we going to the 6:30?”

“No, not this week. We’re going to let Iwaizumi do his angry flirting thing.”

“Iwaizumi was _flirting_? That is how he flirts?”

“We all deal with different things in different ways.”

“And he wonders why he has difficulties finding someone to date. He flirts using verbal abuse. That’s healthy.”

“He’ll find someone that realizes he’s all bark and no bite. Iwaizumi’s really like a giant puppy. A giant, angry puppy.”

“Right. So, I owe you dinner for losing the bet last week. Can I substitute something else in the place of dinner?”

“Whatever could you have in mind, Daichi?”

“I can think of a few things…”

 

 

Iwaizumi had as many unimpressed expressions as he did volleyball shorts (read: a lot). They ranged from subtle disinterest to murderous rage, including such variations as ‘someone took _my_ seat in the lecture hall’ and ‘why did you take the last chocolate milk in the entire cafeteria, that was clearly mine.’ A lot of his frustration stemmed from a disruption in routine and possessiveness, but that was completely normal. Always had been. When Hajime stepped into the studio for the third week in a row (ugh), some twit was in _his_ spot. It had nothing to do with the proximity to Oikawa at all; Iwaizumi could just go right next to the offending person and be just as close (but why?), but that was _his_ spot that she was in. He hadn’t seen her before, so he was willing to forgive her this once, but that didn’t mean Hajime wasn’t angry. Grabbing a mat from the side, he plopped down next to her and began the slow process of intimidating the small blonde into oblivion. She turned her head slowly when she felt the burn of someone’s gaze and jumped a foot into the air when she met the steely expression of one Iwaizumi Hajime. He was pleased with her yelp and turned back to checking his phone, scrolling through silly pictures on Facebook. It was his turn to suppress a distinctly un-manly yelp when heard “yoo-hoo~” reverberate through his head in that playful lilt. Iwaizumi shot back a foot from the owner of the voice, who had materialized right next to Hajime’s ear, and attempted to swat him away.

“Ah, did I scare big, mean Iwa-chan?” Oikawa’s laugh was brilliant and clear, and Hajime _hated_ it. “Well, you’re not that big. I’m taller!” He teased, waving hello to the meek blonde on Iwaizumi’s left. She shrank further into herself when she saw the far right end of Hajime’s rage spectrum ignite on his face.

“I’m going to wipe that smile off your face, Assikawa.” Tooru paused, standing up straight. He hadn’t changed into his gear yet, and was wearing some ridiculous plaid pants, a white button-down and a loosely draped yellow cardigan. Hajime hated those clothes, too.

“Oh? How are you going to do that?”

“I can think of several ways, none of which you’d enjoy.” Iwaizumi growled, his eyes trained on the smiling brown ones.

“You might be surprised by what I enjoy, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa turned on his heel and swaggered off to the change room, but not before shooting a _look_ back, teasing his too-pink bottom lip with his teeth. Iwaizumi’s composure collapsed and his head lolled to the side. What had _that_ been? Every single nerve in Hajime’s body was called to attention by that one seductive gesture, and there was absolutely no way he was going to rein his hormones in now. Stupid Oikawa. When Tooru reemerged from the change room, Hajime could have sworn the man’s shorts were shorter than usual, and tighter, to boot. Stupid Oikawa, indeed. He knew how nice his legs were, that’s for sure, and again, Hajime was really angry with this. A different sort of irate now that his mind was replaying what would henceforth be known as the Lip Biting Incident, but furious all the same.

During the class, Hajime noticed Tooru flitting around him more than he had the previous week, taking the opportunity to touch him more than was necessary. Iwaizumi’s cheeks burned, but he convinced himself that was from fury. Oikawa’s hands were really too sexy to be fair. For some reason, Daichi and Suga hadn’t showed up for class today, but that just allowed Hajime to focus 100% of his energy on retaliating against the totalitarian yoga regime of Oikawa Tooru.

“We’re going to try a new pose today!” Hajime prayed it wouldn’t involve his butt being three feet in the air like in his least favorite pose of all time. Because he had terrible luck and a demonic instructor, it did involve a whole lot of butt waggling in space. Oikawa rolled back and up on his shoulders, bringing his knees down to his face, and Hajime wondered how on _Earth_ he made that look good. So much defined leg and arm everywhere and Iwaizumi’s mind was down for the count. It took him a moment to realize that all the other attendees in the class were trying the pose, and he was caught staring. Hajime was infinitely grateful that Suga wasn’t there to subtly gesture with his eyebrows and tease him about it.

“Iwa-chan, is the easy plow pose too difficult?” Suga wasn’t there, but Oikawa’s smug little whisper was worse.

“Idiot.” Iwaizumi tried to curl his body up into the easy plow – oh God.  Tooru had subtly intoned on the _easy plow_ part, and now Iwaizumi was acutely aware of how sexual this whole thing really could be if he thought about it. He was going to murder Oikawa. Murder him for being unfair amounts of attractive wrapped up in the _worst_ personality. Iwaizumi followed Tooru around the room with his eyes as he helped out other people in the class, laughing and flirting eagerly. “I bet _you’re_ the easy plow, Shittykawa.” Hajime murmured to his knees.

“Iwa-chan, look at you, all uneven.” Iwaizumi was aware of the lack of potency in his eye roll, but he hoped the sentiment was enough to deter Oikawa. “As always, you need help.” It wasn’t. Tooru’s dramatic sigh nearly made Hajime want to kick the man in the face.

After nearly falling asleep _again_ (this was getting embarrassing) at the end of class, Iwaizumi sulked into the partially lit change room. He had no real reason to hurry as the power-changing duo of Suga and Daichi weren’t there, and no other men had come to this session. Maybe he was purposely taking a long time in hopes of being seen, and maybe he was just moving languidly because of how blissfully relaxed he felt at that moment. Hajime took a few experimental swings with his right arm and paused on the follow-through. Huh, he mused, it was starting to get better. Iwaizumi considered adding some of the less embarrassing stretches to a morning routine, even though the downward whatever of butt waggling was the pose that released the most tension. He glowered, hands grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. He absentmindedly folded the dirty shirt and placed it in his gym bag, removing a pile of clean clothes from another compartment. The thought of having to stare down an assignment when he got home did nothing to hasten his departure from the studio, so Hajime slowly slipped his shorts down his hips and folded them, too. After putting on a pair of threadbare sweatpants, he reached up and squeezed his traps, rolling his head from side to side. His eyes idly followed the play of shadows across the pastel wall before him as he moved through the motions. He toweled off his face and neck, unfolding an old, long sleeved warm up shirt and slowly pulling it over his head. Hajime grabbed his jacket, slipped it on, and threw the strap of his bag over his left shoulder. It was only when he turned that he caught sight of a certain Oikawa Tooru leaning casually in the shadows against the doorframe, arms crossed, and eyes _hungry_. Iwaizumi wheezed, clutching his chest from the initial shock, then throwing his bag down furiously.

“Were you watching me _change_?!” He bellowed, completely oblivious to the fact that people had started arriving for the next class.

“I could have just arrived! Iwa-chan will never know.” Oikawa’s words came more slowly, his voice deeper than Hajime recalled it being.

“You’re a little shit.”

“So mean, Iwa-chan! You’re ruining all your relaxation by getting all stupid and grumpy again.” Tooru just waved one hand around, like that was a suitable explanation.

“ _Grumpy?_ You just watched me change and I’m supposed to be _okay with it?_ ” Iwaizumi was a lot explosively rage-filled but a little turned on. Just a little. Oikawa took slow, deliberate steps toward him, that half-lidded expression still on his face.

“I can’t appreciate nice muscles? After that obscenely tight shirt from last week, I thought you wanted me to.” Tooru’s voice lowered to a purr by Hajime’s ear, and the height difference between the two became immediately apparent. Iwaizumi pivoted, balling Oikawa’s shirt in his fists and pulling. Tooru was calmly looking down his nose, smirk as arrogant as ever, and Hajime’s breaths were coming in harsh, angry pants. His teeth were gritted and his mind blazed through any number of possible steps to take now that he had the infuriating man in his grip, a hair’s breadth from his face. “So, are you going to kiss me or hit me? I haven’t got all day, Iwa-chan~!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying my best to keep these two in character, but I get carried away sometimes. Oops. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading, and hope y'all liked it!


	3. proper one-night stand etiquette, according to Iwaizumi Hajime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Iwaizumi gets exactly what he bargained for.

Hajime brought his face closer to the impossible idiot and released his right hand, flicking Oikawa on the forehead as hard as he could manage. Oikawa actually squealed in protest. Iwaizumi dropped the fabric in his other hand like it was too filthy to hold, scooped his bag strap from the floor, and left without a backwards glance. Hajime stormed past Daichi and Suga, not even realizing they were the pair coming in the door as he exited.

“Iwaizumi! Hey, wait!” Suga called, stepping back out into the street. Hajime stopped dead in his tracks and turned around.

“Oh, I didn’t see you, Suga.” Daichi stumbled out of the building and grunted out a ‘hello.’

“You okay? You look a little-”

“I’m fine.”

“Of course you are.” Koushi smiled softly. Iwaizumi knew that this wasn’t the end of Suga’s line of questioning, and that there would be subtle probing questions in his future. Probably at practice tomorrow. Daichi would likely also try to do the ‘hey, son, let’s have an awkward conversation that neither of us wants to have,’ once Suga is done with him. Either way, bolting from the yoga studio will raise many an eyebrow, but Hajime had no interest in staying around to deal with Oikawa. “Have a good night, then!” Suga couldn’t read the expression on Hajime’s face, but there was a strong undercurrent of something unsettling beneath the surface.

“You too. See you tomorrow.”

 

 

“You look worried.”

“I’m not worried.”

“You’re worried.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You used to be better at lying, Koushi.”

“That’s because you were terrible at reading me when we first met, you dork.”

“You realize Iwaizumi is a grown man, right?”

“Yes, yes, I am, but he looked so-” Koushi sighed deeply. “He wasn’t scowling, or yelling; he just looked confused!” His shoulders slumped, and Daichi gently rubbed circles on Suga’s back. Suga looked over and smiled the tiniest of smiles. “I just want to fix everyone’s lives!”

“You’re going to be a mess when we have children.”

“Like you won’t? Imagine our girl starting to date.” Daichi looked ready to buy a shotgun. “Exactly. We don’t even _have_ kids, and that thought gets you all riled up.”

“How long have we been childless parents?”

“Since forever.”

“You’re right.” Daichi pulled Suga closer to him on the couch and turned on the tv.

“’Course I am.” Koushi nestled into his boyfriend’s arms and let his lips curl up into a grin. The darker haired of the two just shook his head, chuckling low in his throat.

 

 

 

Hajime knew he was screwed when he remarked, after fifteen minutes, that he was having a staring contest with the tile in his shower. The water was beginning to cool down, but he remained standing beneath the steady flow. Yes, he was mad, and yes, he was also flustered, and a big whopping yes, he wanted Oikawa _badly_. Iwaizumi’s entire idea for a happily ever after got thrown out a twenty story window, and was replaced by a steadily climbing lust. To hell with a relationship right now, he thought, finally remembering to rinse the shampoo out of his hair.

“I will not be conquered.” Hajime announced to the shower and he heard his neighbor reply ‘that’s the spirit!’ through the wall. He was moving out of this apartment as soon as his lease was up, and hopefully to a place where the walls weren’t made of tissue paper.

 

  

 

Volleyball was easy the next morning; the movements, the sweat, the sounds were familiar and comforting. Coach Ukai ended drills early in favor of setting up a scrimmage, and the gym erupted in cheers as the players set themselves up on the court.

“Coach!” A player called.

“What?”

“How do you want us set up?”

“Play with whoever you want today. It’s Friday, and you’re driving me crazy with how antsy you are.” Friends and teammates split up evenly, high fiving and getting ready for a fun match. The level of competition was high, as always, but there was a lot more trash talking than Coach Ukai usually permitted. Their coach seemed to be entertained by the whole spectacle, watching his players gesture and yell rudely at one another. Hajime took to the air and fired a ball straight down the line, letting loose a primal growl. Coach Ukai raised an impressed eyebrow, but instead of looking at Iwaizumi, he caught Suga’s eyes. Suga smiled proudly and nodded in the affirmative. Daichi saw the exchange, even nudged Suga to prompt him, but received nothing in return. After three more utterly terrifying Iwaizumi spikes, Suga was rotated off the court and Daichi caught Coach Ukai slipping him what looked suspiciously like money. What on Earth? Sawamura paid for his momentary distraction by having to throw up a slap-dash body block to avoid getting hit in the face by a teammate’s serve, but returned his attention back to the game. He’d find out what that was about eventually. Iwaizumi hit a monster of a pipe the next point (growling again?), and Daichi wondered where that fire had come from. The two people who were constants in his life were behaving very oddly all of a sudden.

Iwaizumi was chatting with a few of the other players after practice when Daichi caught up with Suga on his way to the weight room.

“Suga, why did Coach give you money when you sat down on the bench?” He probed, turning to face those utterly distracting eyes.

“Oh, I won a bet.” The answer was casual and flippant, meant to encourage the asker to move on with their lives and leave the topic be.

“Since when do you make bets with our coach?”

“Just this once!” Suga diverted his eyes.

“Suga.” Daichi’s voice was sterner this time.

“Okay, we bet on a lot of stupid stuff, but I’ve yet to lose!” Suga’s statement left Daichi in stunned silence.

“What bet did you win today?” Curiosity got the better of Daichi, and he momentarily put aside his concern over his boyfriend’s strange gambling.

“Coach bet that I couldn’t get Iwaizumi to go to yoga.”

“But he went to the first class three weeks ago!”

“Yes, but then we went double or nothing on whether it was going to fix his shoulder!”

“And that was your payment?”

“Well.”

“Suga.”

“Then we went double or nothing on _that_ , and I won, saying he’d go to yoga even without us because he hates changing routine. Coach was so sure he’d win that bet.”

“Isn’t it unfair that you get to use whatever celestial powers of deduction you have against our human coach?” The amber eyes blinked up at him innocently. Daichi smiled. “How much did you win?” A smile erupted across Suga’s face.

“Twenty-four thousand yen.” Daichi’s eyes shot open.

“What?!”

“You wanna go to that fancy restaurant we’ve been meaning to go to?” The silver-haired minx bit his lip, still grinning, waving the bills in front of Daichi’s face.

“Who _are_ you?”

“I’m your ever-surprising boyfriend. Don’t want our relationship to get stale, ne?” A disbelieving laugh tumbled out of Daichi’s throat, and he led the rest of the way to the weight room.

“Just tell me there are no more bets currently in play, Suga.”

“No, not at all!” Just one that Suga was secretly hoping to lose.

 

  

 

Hajime strolled into the weight room some time later with two of their teammates, Kindaichi and Kuroo. They often worked out together after Friday practices since all the rest of the team had classes in the morning. Daichi was busy spotting Suga at one of the squat racks, the latter struggling through a set. Daichi was the only one able to speak.

“Nice hitting today, Iwaizumi. What’s got you so fired up all of a sudden?” Getting himself off twice before practice to the thought of wiping a smirk off of Oikawa’s face in _very_ inappropriate ways.

“I got a good night’s sleep.” Daichi probably wouldn’t have appreciated the un-edited version of the response, and realistically, Hajime had slept really well. Suga was mid-squat, and _still_ managed to give him an armor-piercing smile. “Suga, since when can you squat this much?” Suga dropped the bar on its supports with a loud clank.

“I just look small compared to thunder thighs over here,” A gesture at Daichi, “But I can hold my own. Look at these magnificent, milky thighs.” The silver-haired man pulled up his shorts to slap his leg. Daichi pointedly avoided looking at Suga, who was chortling with delight. Hajime couldn’t help but snort out a laugh, though he was trying his best to remain as stoic as possible. Suga rolled his shorts up more and stood with his fists on his hips.

“I need some water.” Daichi walked away slowly and calmly, arms crossed over his chest. Iwaizumi and Suga burst into laughter.

“You always do that when I’m around, don’t you?” Hajime asked, taking a deep breath.

“I do it _because_ you’re around. Daichi gets mortified if I do it around other people, but he is only mildly embarrassed if it’s you. Anyway, you seem better today!”

“Better?”

“You looked a little off last night when I saw you at yoga.”

“Oh, that. Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Oikawa driving you up the wall?” Iwaizumi stiffened.

“He’s as _Oikawa_ as he was three weeks ago.”

“He’s cute, though! Not your type?”

“Uhhh.”

“So, he is?”

“He’s attractive, I give him that, but he’s _so-_ ” Iwaizumi made a strangling gesture with his hands. “He’s really aggressively flirtatious and it’s infuriating.”

“Because it takes the control out of your hands?” Suga was leaning casually now, expression thoughtful. Hajime was taken aback. “You just like things to be a very particular way, and I know you don’t like it if plans change, or even if someone takes the last chocolate milk after practice. Oikawa seems like the type to try to bend everything to his will. Is that what drives you crazy?”

“First of all, taking a man’s chocolate milk should be considered a crime punishable by flogging, and second, Suga, you are doing the mom-slash-therapist thing again.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine, but actually.” Hajime sighed, interlocking his fingers and putting them on his head. “I really don’t want to date that jackass, but I wouldn’t mind some attention.” Suga hummed in affirmation.

“So, do it. Him. Why not?”

“It’s been awhile.”

“Ah. Just go with it! You’ll be fine! You can always come to me or Daichi for advice, you know that.” Suga patted him on the shoulder, took a swig of water and got himself ready to do another set of squats. “Spot me?”

“Yes, mom.” Hajime quirked up the corner of his mouth at Suga’s minuscule frown.

 

 

 

Hajime had concocted a plan while showering, and while it was excellent in theory, it would take a lot of effort to put into place. He had decided to tip the tables back in his favor and regain control of the situation. Suga was right (as always), and a large part of his rage explosion was due to the fact that Oikawa had gotten the upper hand on him. Seeing the ravenous look on Oikawa’s face after finding out he was watching him change? Insanely, mind-blowingly hot. That stupid smirk indicating he was dominant (and knew it) over the situation? Completely and utterly unattractive. All Hajime had to do was make sure that Oikawa was the one begging for it. An image of Tooru on his knees, begging, rose unbidden to his mind, and Iwaizumi smacked himself in the face. He was brought back to Earth, to the classroom he was sitting in, surrounded by people. Oops. Differential equations stared him in the face and Hajime made a valiant effort to focus on the professor’s lecturing. He had to get his head on straight because his plan revolved entirely around him being able to ignore and fluster Oikawa, not get awkward boners in class. Stupid, stupid Oikawa. Tooru. Whatever.

 

 

 

Suga’s phone buzzed. Daichi grunted.

“Now?”

“It’s Iwaizumi. He never calls. I wonder why he’s calling!”

“Suga, I am _in you_.”

“I know, continue! Hello?” Suga answered breathlessly, but with great cheer. Daichi just stared down dully at the love of his life, who was now on the phone. During sex. If Suga got to spend all this time teasing the living daylights out of him, it would only be fair for him to get a little bit of revenge, right? “Wait, why do you need one of my shiiiirts?” Suga’s voice rose an octave and Daichi’s lips curled up mischievously. He was rewarded with a gape, Suga’s hand covering the receiver. “Mhm, okay, yeeeEEEEss, what, Iwaizumi? Oh, no, we’re just hANGing out on the couuuooohhhhhkay. Yesss. Let me call you back, someone’s at my dooooOOOR!”

“You about done?”

“Thanks to you, yes! That was rude, by the way.”

“You answered the phone during sex!”

“I was worried! What if he had some sort of emergency-ooh, I like it when you get all broody. Do that again.” Suga giggled and pulled Daichi into a sloppy kiss.

 

 

 

Iwaizumi guessed that Suga was at least a size smaller than he was, so he had called his teammate to borrow a shirt or two that he didn’t mind getting stretched out. Hajime was ready to commit to his angry seduction, and for that, he needed multiple tight shirts. Oikawa would undoubtedly notice if Hajime wore the same shirt two weeks in a row, and that just wouldn’t do. What he wasn’t expecting was for Suga to pick up the phone while he was otherwise engaged; after stuttering out his question and ignoring what had very likely been moans, Iwaizumi hung up and pressed his lips together tightly. Those two. Honestly.

 

 

 

That Thursday, Hajime spent all day steeling his resolve to stay firm and blatantly ignore any advances or impropriety directed his way. Iwaizumi imagined how sweet his victory would be as he pushed open the door to the studio. He would get the ball back in his court, yes, yes, he would. He would do this, and it would be _amazing_. Despite feeling extremely exposed in Suga’s teal long-sleeved shirt (ohhhh, it was tight, but the color looked _great_ on him), Hajime strutted into the studio like he owned the place. He kept thinking about how satisfied he would be when he managed to get Oikawa all flustered and useless, and nearly walked into the small blonde from the previous week. Smooth, Hajime, smooth. She yelped in fright, cowering before him. He apologized profusely, which only seemed to make the situation worse, but at least she wasn’t in his spot this time. Hajime sat patiently on his mat, texting a classmate about a group project they had yet to start. When he heard the telltale cadence of one Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi fought the urge to smirk. Let the games begin, he thought, reaching his hands up over his head to “stretch.” Tooru greeted his loyal subjects, chatting idly with some of the more keen women in the back corner, but Hajime could see his eyes in the mirror. Oikawa was definitely glancing over in the least surreptitious way possible, but after making eye contact, Hajime looked away disinterestedly. The third time this happened, Iwaizumi could have sworn Tooru pouted. Like a child. Internally, Hajime cheered, but he was a bronze statue on the outside. Calm, cool, and collected. The class _somehow_ had even more suggestive positions (subtle, Oikawa) than the previous time, but Hajime took it all in stride. He nearly blew a fuse several times when Oikawa let his fingers graze his inner thighs, but on the whole, he was succeeding in frustrating the pompous twit.

Tooru made three sounds of great interest during the latter half of class that were varying degrees of hilarious and arousing for one Iwaizumi Hajime. The first sound was an angry huff, which was nothing but entertaining. The second was a low whine when Hajime failed to respond to a gentle touch to his back. The third, and most interesting, was very quiet, but was unmistakably a breathy moan. Whereas the first two were meant to be noticed, Iwaizumi wasn’t sure that Oikawa had meant the third to be audible. Tooru had obviously picked this stupid position for a reason (Iwaizumi on his hands and knees with his back arched), but instead of getting Hajime flustered like he had wanted, Oikawa was met with a zen scowl. So Oikawa’s plan was backfiring on him, and Iwaizumi was positively _delighted._ It was all he could do to not raise his fist in celebration. It was also sexy, but that was beside the point. Hajime was winning, and that was essential. After a quick end-of-class doze (routine was routine, after all), Iwaizumi jumped up and swaggered to the empty change room. He felt Tooru’s eyes on him, even as the brat flirted extra loudly with some of the more attractive women in the class. Oikawa, acting casually, was ready to shove twelve people out of his way, tackle Iwaizumi, and have his way with him. Naturally, he was much too refined a human being to say no to a little bit of flirtation with whomever happened to show interest in the meantime, but his sights were set. As a general rule, what Tooru wanted, Tooru got.

“Have a great week, ladies!” Oikawa gave them a signature grin and peace sign, and then made a beeline for the men’s change room. Hajime was there, peeling that long sleeved shirt off of his gorgeous muscles and folding it carefully. He turned to face Tooru, in all his shirtless glory, and slowly wiped the beads of sweat from his sculpted torso. They made eye contact and Tooru scowled, storming into the room towards his own gym bag. Oikawa angrily ripped off his own V-necked t-shirt, slapping it onto the bench right next to Iwaizumi’s things. Hajime fought down a laugh at the petulant gesture, and began to wriggle out of his shorts, maintaining eye contact. Tooru sucked in a breath and mimicked the action. The two of them stood facing each other; Iwaizumi impassive while Oikawa looked like steam was about to shoot out his ears. Hajime gave himself a mental high five, but frowned internally because he wasn’t able to ogle the body before him. The strong and graceful legs, the toned abs and chest, the arms, the long neck – a mental slap discouraged the sexy line of thought. There would be a time for touching every inch of the man before him, but not yet. He had to break first. Tooru threw his hands on his hips and huffed out a breath. So this is what he looks like when he’s not acting, Hajime thought. Iwaizumi turned to his bag, folded his shorts, and put them inside. He made a show of dropping his water bottle so he could bend over in his underwear, and was rewarded with a barely repressed whimper from Oikawa. Following that, Hajime threw on his clean clothes, grabbed his bag and walked out.

“The pink briefs really kill the angry vibe you’re putting out, Shittykawa.” Iwaizumi threw the statement over his shoulder and walked out of the studio, grinning victoriously.

“IWA-CHAAAAAAAN!” The shrill cry echoed down the street, fueling the Hajime victory parade.

           

 

 

“Is Iwaizumi still _smiling_? I didn’t know his face did that. Sugawara, get over here!” Suga sprinted over to Coach Ukai and his assistant, mildly concerned.

“Yes?”

“Why is he smiling? None of the coaches can figure it out, and it’s creepy. It’s been nearly a week, and it hasn’t stopped. Is he broken?”

“No, sir, he’s fine.” Koushi followed it up with a trademark grin; Suga was pretty sure he knew why the off-putting smile hadn’t faded.

“Could you make him a little _less_ fine before our practice match on Wednesday? He’ll scare the fans off.”

“Yes, I think I can do that, sir.”

“Good man.”

 

 

 

Hajime’s was not a face that smiles sat naturally on. Suga looked like he was born smiling, and even Daichi’s mouth curved easily when he was happy; Iwaizumi, on the other hand, expressed joy by looking like somebody had given him the wrong order at a café. So, when people saw Iwaizumi smiling for extended periods of time, they tended to get uncomfortable. Hajime didn’t care; he was winning his game, and it was great. He, Daichi and Suga had gotten together after an evening practice to work on assignments at a nearby café, and Iwaizumi really couldn’t get himself to stop grinning. The only problem was that every time he lifted up his head, Suga’s laughing eyes met his. Of course he knew something had happened.

“Is your assignment going well, Iwaizumi?” Daichi looked up from an over-highlighted textbook. “You seem really satisfied with it.” Suga shook his head at his boyfriend, completely charmed by his obliviousness.

“It’s kicking my ass. I don’t even know what this symbol is.” Hajime circled a mess of an equation on his paper. “Why doesn’t math have numbers anymore? If I wanted to learn Greek, I would’ve signed up for it. Ugh.”

“So how was he?” Suga wheedled, a knowing smile creeping up his cheeks.

“What?” Daichi threw a sidelong glance at Koushi. Hajime flushed.

“Uh, we didn’t-”

“You can’t honestly tell me you’ve been smiling for _days_ and you didn’t get laid!”

“Suga!” Both men chided, but Suga shrugged innocently.

“Fine. Iwaizumi, you can tell me later.”

“Yes, mom.”

“I’m not a mom!”

“You’re a mom.” Daichi added, chewing thoughtfully on a pen.

“I’m not! I’m a dad!”

“Sawamura’s a dad, you’re a mom.” Suga opened his mouth to protest.

“I’m a mom.”

“But the sweetest man-mom.” Daichi cooed, kissing Koushi on the cheek. Suga scribbled something quickly on a paper with an orange highlighter and pushed it over to Daichi’s side of the table.

“Suga, it’s not a secret if I can read it from over here. I’m pretty sure the girl that just walked in can see it.” Hajime muttered, turning his attention back to a problem that refused to be solved. The piece of paper Suga had scrawled on was really half of an 8.5x11” sheet, and said ‘SEX?’ in large, luridly orange block letters. Daichi covered it up with his hand and casually slipped it in his pocket.

“Will you excuse us for a moment?” Hajime’s chest heaved with a heavy sigh.

“Have fun.”

 

 

 

They won their practice match on Wednesday against a school from a neighboring town, which only served to boost Iwaizumi’s confidence going into week two of Break Oikawa Tooru. He was an unstoppable force to Tooru’s immovable object, and that Thursday, he would make the object move through sheer force of will.

 

 

 

Oikawa was wearing spandex. Actual freaking spandex shorts. He was vacuum-sealed into them and his ass was phenomenal. Criminal, even. Iwaizumi was momentarily distracted, but then remembered his mission, and the fact that he was winning. He would not concede, or falter; he would be the one to achieve victory. Iwaizumi got through the class without so much as changing facial expressions, and the harassed look on Oikawa’s face made the sacrifice worth it. Did Hajime want to leer at Tooru all class? Yes. Did he? No. Well, just once, when he thought Shittykawa wasn’t paying attention. But that was _one_ time. Tooru was all disgruntled noises and huffing as he ‘helped’ Hajime with his posture, the whole process really one touch short of public groping, and Iwaizumi persevered. Every time he started to feel a familiar lurching in his gut, he thought about decidedly unsexy things like thermodynamics, or calculus. He had learned in his youth that nothing got rid of a boner faster than doing math, and it was about time Hajime put that knowledge to use. Hajime took his post-class nap (there was something to be said about the comfort of a routine) and slowly got to his feet, making sure to flex his thighs a little more than was necessary for the action. While he knew Oikawa was going to follow him back to the change room, he wasn’t expecting him to be right behind him. Tooru stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, eyes calculating.

“Iwa-chan, you should really stop this nonsense!” He purred, waiting for a reaction.

“Stop what? You’re the one fondling me in class, Trashykawa.” Good one, Hajime.

“So rude! I am just being a helpful-”

“Perverted.”

“ _Helpful_ yoga instructor.”

“Does that innocent act fool anyone?”

“It’s not an act.” Oikawa’s sultry tone negated his statement completely. Iwaizumi crossed the change room in three strides, slamming his palm by Oikawa’s head and leaning in close enough to feel Tooru’s quick breaths on his face.

“You think your plan to wear those shorts was amazing, don’t you?”

“Ah, Iwa-chan did notice them~” Oikawa’s voice was stronger than the quivering mess the rest of his body had become. His cheeks were flushed pink, and lips parted gently. It would be so easy to just lean in and-

“Yeah, because I’m not blind, idiot. Nobody said anything about liking them.”

“You really are mean, Iwa-chan.”

“I never claimed to be anything else.” Hajime pulled his hand away, brushing by Oikawa’s hair slowly. It was as soft as it looked. Iwaizumi wanted nothing more to run his hands through the strands, grab it and yank Oikawa’s mouth down to his to make him shut up and math. Math. Math. Do some derivatives, Hajime, his brain urged, but the heat building in his stomach wasn’t listening. Tooru’s breathing was still coming in pants, but more steadily as he focused on Hajime’s eyes. Like a predator waiting for his prey to make a lapse in judgment, a fatal error, Oikawa caught the moment Hajime’s resolve stuttered, crushing their lips together. Iwaizumi’s right hand snaked up between them in an instant and roughly shoved Oikawa back against the wall, separating them. The back of Tooru’s head hit the wall and he blinked owlishly down at Hajime.

“You don’t get to control _anything_.” Oikawa _shivered_. Was all of this taunting only meant to provoke Iwaizumi? Oh, Hajime hated that conniving mind. Seconds passed, then minutes. Oikawa looked thoroughly harassed, and he made a move to grab Hajime’s wrists. Ever the athlete, Hajime caught Oikawa, using the taller man’s momentum to pin his hands by his head. “Oh, you’re at a loss for words now, Shittykawa?”

“Iwa-chan’s just a big brute!” Tooru’s insult was a breathy exhalation as Hajime pressed their bodies together. Iwaizumi was losing his mind to his libido and there were only two options available to him at the present moment: walk away and savor victory, or have sex with Oikawa on the change room floor before anyone comes in. Weighing the two options, Hajime realized the second one actually sounded more like winning than the former, but there were way too many people coming into the studio for the next class.

“Your apartment or mine?” Hajime blurted to a still shell-shocked Tooru.

“Ten minutes by train?”

“You’re closer. Grab your stuff.”

 

 

 

The two sat next to each other on the train, both itching to tear each other’s clothes off, but unable to (social boundaries and all that). Thankfully, Oikawa had the forethought to bring sweatpants to cover the obscene spandex he had on. Sitting in silence, it occurred to both men that they had never actually had a real conversation, or the semblance of one. Hajime, for some reason, found this awkward. They were on their way to Oikawa’s apartment to (presumably) have (lots of) sex, and yet, he was bothered by the fact they hadn’t exchanged pleasantries. What?

“Is Iwa-chan always quiet, or did he use up his entire vocabulary back in the change room?”

“Shut up, idiot.”

“You wound me, Iwa-chan! A fragile ego like mine needs care, not cruel words~” Hajime shot him a disbelieving look, his foot tapping nervously against the floor of the train.

“Oh please. Like your ego needs any help. Your devout yoga followers probably feed you enough for weeks.”

“Ah, but I have admirers everywhere, not just at yoga! I don’t like to limit myself to just one place!” Tooru quirked up a corner of his mouth and winked. Hajime gave him a blank stare followed by an almost audible eye roll.

“You’re a little shit.”

“I’m not little! I’m taller than you!”

“So you admit you’re a shit, then?”

“Iwa-chan!” Tooru grabbed Hajime’s jacket sleeve and pouted. It was kind of adorable and Hajime had to try really hard not to smile. It wouldn’t do to let idiot Oikawa know his theatrics were amusing.

“You’re an idiot.”

“I’m on scholarship, so obviously I’m not.”

“They give scholarships for people training to become insufferable wastes of time?” That pout would be the death of Iwaizumi Hajime.

“Nooooo~! Since you’re asking, I’m doing my masters.” Iwaizumi laughed throatily.

“I wasn’t, but you told me anyway. You’re kidding, though, right?”

“Nope.” Oikawa smiled proudly, like this wasn’t the first time someone had accused him of being stupid and he proved him or her wrong.

“In what?” Hajime was actually curious; someone had given this man money to study something other than his own face?

“Physical therapy! I get to touch people all day long and make them feel better!”

“That makes you sound like a prostitute.”

“So mean! Well, at least I’m not stupid like Iwa-chan. I’m surprised they let a Neanderthal into college with Suga-kun and Stoic Boyfriend-kun.”

“Ha. Ha.”

“I bet you’re studying advanced basket weaving.” Iwaizumi’s face darkened and Oikawa leaned back slightly.

“Engineering. Mechanical.” Oikawa’s laugh was big and obnoxious, and Hajime just wanted to sink his fist into his gut.

“Oh, you were serious? I guess they always need someone to normalize the grade distribution~” Hajime flicked Oikawa’s earlobe, and the taller man yelped. “Owww. I’m not going to sleep with you if you keep being such a jerk!”

“Yes, you are. That’s _why_ you want to.”

“You’re wrong, Iwa-chan.” Tooru pouted, seeing the smirk on Hajime’s face. He’d hit the nail right on the head. When they got off the train, both men attempted to be casual on the walk back, not wanting to seem too eager. Their casual gait became a brisk walk, which led to a full-out sprint in the last leg of the trip to Oikawa’s apartment, Hajime following those long legs to the door. Iwaizumi pressed himself up against Oikawa’s back, panting from exertion, which did nothing to expedite the process of unlocking the door. Tooru dropped the keys no fewer than four times, intentionally rubbing his hips against Hajime every single time he bent over to pick them up. The dropping was an accident, but the teasing was not.

“Come on, Shittykawa! Do you need a freaking advanced degree to know how a lock works?” Iwaizumi hissed, getting antsy.

“Stop being mean!”

“No.” Oikawa whimpered, finally slamming the door open. They tumbled across the threshold, grabbing wildly at each other’s clothing and exchanging sloppy, feverish kisses when some of the mutinous fabric was out of the way. They bumped into every corner, decorative lamp, couch and chair on their way to the bedroom, knocking everything over and leaving a wake like some absurd, horny tornado.

“Iwa-chan, I liked that lamp!”

“It was ugly.”

“Okay, it was ugly, but-” Hajime cut Oikawa off by aggressively grabbing his butt and hoisting him up by the hips. He could finally put all that added muscle to use outside of a volleyball court, and this only served to dismantle Oikawa’s composure further. Tooru had long since given up on keeping up any sort of façade, Iwaizumi noticed, and he liked seeing him unraveled. Hajime dropped the two of them onto the bed unceremoniously and immediately pinned Oikawa’s hands above his head, taking advantage of his dominance to tease at the pale collarbone before him with his teeth. He had Oikawa keening beneath him, but a small uncertainty began to creep into Iwaizumi’s mind; could he really remember how to do this properly? It had been so long since he’d last kissed someone, let alone had sex, and Hajime didn’t like being unsuccessful at anything. He propped himself up on his forearms and looked down at Oikawa. Tooru’s eyes were half-lidded and glazed over, but his gaze was intense. He panted through gently parted, swollen lips, and he curled it into a wicked smile when Iwaizumi paused to appreciate him.

“Aw, did Iwa-chan get distracted by how handsome I am? Forget what you’re doing?” The tone had none of the usual condescending bite Oikawa so loved, instead coming out as soft breaths while his long fingers grabbed at Hajime’s shoulder blades.

“I’m going to smother you with a pillow.”

“Kinky!” Iwaizumi growled low in his throat and yanked off Oikawa’s sweatpants, shorts and socks in one swift movement, which impressed both men.

“You make me crazy, Oikawa.” He grumbled, helping Tooru’s hands pull down his volleyball shorts. Oikawa had the audacity to chuckle, pulling Iwaizumi into a slow, probing kiss.

“Good.”

 

  

 

Hajime stared at the ceiling, counting glow-in-the-dark stars (how old was Oikawa, anyway? 11?) while the sweat on his body cooled. Oikawa was already snoring softly, body turned towards Iwaizumi, hands folded under his cheek. Hajime took a mental note of how infuriatingly adorable the idiot looked before resuming his very important counting task. He had never had a one-night stand because he didn’t consider himself a one-night stand kind of guy. He was a loyal and dedicated man, focused to a fault, and so he wasn’t entirely sure how to deal with the situation. The sheets were loosely draped across their bodies, and Hajime kept sneaking peeks at the shadows playing across the planes of Oikawa’s muscles. He had enjoyed himself (and Tooru) immensely, and judging by the Oikawa’s volume, he hadn’t been too disappointed by the experience either. Iwaizumi hadn’t even realized how much he had missed the warmth of another person, even if they happened to be the world’s most annoying yoga instructor who was only strangely endearing when his mouth was shut. Maybe it was going to bed alone every night that made him strangely lonely in Tooru’s darkened room. Would it be appropriate to cuddle? Oikawa was already asleep, so maybe if Hajime just shifted slightly, he wouldn’t notice. Before he had a chance to try wriggling closer, Oikawa moved over several inches, one hand coming to rest on Iwaizumi’s bicep. Hajime silently cheered. Oikawa’s progressive movement began to occur regularly every ten minutes or so, and was so precisely timed that Hajime suspected the bed-headed Oikawa was also too shy to try cuddling outright. That thought baffled Iwaizumi, as Oikawa seemed very direct when he wanted something. Taking the bull by the horns, he slipped his arm under Oikawa’s neck, around his shoulder, and hoisted him onto his bare chest. Tooru made a contented noise, smiling against the skin of Hajime’s shoulder and curling around his body. Jackpot.

 

 

 

The morning sun was way too bright, in Hajime’s opinion, and he briefly considered rolling over and continuing his peaceful sleep before he realized it was Friday, and he had both class _and_ practice in the morning. He groaned, throwing the covers off himself before noticing two very important things. One, he was not in his bed, and two, there was one (1) naked Oikawa Tooru sprawled across his body. The clock read 8:07, which meant he still had time. Hajime was not about to admit to himself that he had likely slept very well due to the comforting presence of another human being, so he extracted himself from the tangle of limbs, scooped up what he recognized as his clothing and snuck off to the bathroom. Hajime wondered what the etiquette for leaving in the morning was, and briefly considered texting Suga for advice. He rustled around his pockets, searching for the stupid device, but it was likely still in his gym bag. Ah well. He rolled his eyes at the assortment of bottles and jars of lotions and potions strewn haphazardly on the counter. He pushed some of the larger bottles out of the way so he could access the sink, washed his face and ran a wet hand through his hair, deeming himself acceptable for society. Iwaizumi snuck back out and double-checked the bedroom to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind, fully intending on leaving Oikawa dozing peacefully in a tangle of blankets and pillows. Next to Oikawa on the pillow, however, was a familiar black rectangle; how on Earth had Hajime’s phone gotten to the bed? He padded over quietly, grabbed it and walked out of the room. ‘That wasn’t too bad,’ Hajime thought to himself, slipping on his shoes and jacket.

“Iwa-chaaaaan~” Great. Resist the urge to go back in, Hajime, resist.

“Yes, Satan?” A huff.

“You were going to leave without saying bye?” Resist.

“Oikawa, I need to get my gear for practice, and I’m going to be late if I don’t leave now.” Tooru sashayed out of the room, wearing a sheet as a makeshift toga, and leaned on the doorway, arms across his chest. Hajime’s eyes flicked down to probe the tantalizingly exposed hipbones.

“But I want more Iwa-chan!” Oikawa whined. When had Tooru gotten so close, and how had his hands worked their way up Hajime’s shirt? Hajime swallowed thickly and though his body hated him for it, smacked Oikawa’s hands away.

“Maybe later.” Iwaizumi mentally raged at the frustrated yearning low in his belly.

“Promise?”

“No.”

“Mean!” Tooru smacked Hajime on the arm before ushering him towards the door. “Go play volleyball and think about what you said! Rude, Iwa-chaaaan! I’m a catch, you know!” Hajime rolled his eyes and left the apartment, pointedly not turning around to witness any seductive looks Oikawa may have tried to convince him to stay.

 

 

 

For two weeks, they repeated the same routine. Yoga, bickering on the train, then a pleasantly aggressive romp in the bedroom. The third week, after Tuesday practice, Hajime got a text.

 

>> Iwa-channnn~

>> I’m huuuuungry and just got out of class! You owe me lunch :))))))

 

He had never given Tooru his number.

 

>> How did you get my number, Shittykawa?

 

>> I stole Iwa-chan’s phone when he was all ~*sleeping beauty*~ last week !!!

 

>> …I’m going to kill you.

>>  Plus, I don’t owe you lunch.

 

>> I think you doooooo

>> Hint hint: payment for best bj of your liiiiife~

 

>> You still sound like a prostitute.

 

Hajime flushed scarlet and quickly turned off his screen, looking around to see if he was alone. As it happened, Suga was observing him quietly from several metres away.

“So you’re texting now, eh, Casanova?” Suga obviously wasn’t aware of how painful his elbow jabs were.

“No. He jacked my phone while I was sleeping to get my number, and is now insisting I take him out for lunch.”

“You don’t look too upset about it.” A sly grin worked its way across Suga’s face and Hajime felt his skin heating up again.

“He’s an idiot.”

“You can’t deny the charm, though! Aw, you’re _blushing_! That’s adorable! DAICHI!”

“Oh Lord, no, please, don’t call him over, Suga. I’m already mortified. Besides, it’s just sex.”

“Do you plan on fooling around at lunch?”

“Well, no-“ Hajime floundered. No, this was just going to be a fling because those were easy. It’s acceptable to have lunch with flings, right? Besides, Oikawa was annoying, and Hajime had the situation 100% under control.

 

>> I’ll see you at that bakery by the math building in 15!!!!!! BE THERE, MEAN IWA-CHAN!!! >:|

 

“Go enjoy your sexless lunch, Iwaizumi! Don’t wanna keep Oikawa waiting now, do you?” Suga gave Hajime one last proud mama smile before walking to the locker rooms. Iwaizumi hung his head, rereading the last text sent by the number saved in his phone as <3 Iwa-chan’s Prince Charming <3\. Hajime changed it to “Prince Shittykawa,” smirked, and went to join the idiot for lunch. He really wouldn’t mind the company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FOUR THINGS:
> 
> 1\. I tried to write smut for y'all, I really did, but it ended up being a disaster (I laughed at my own work), so...use those lovely imaginations.
> 
> 2\. This fic spiraled out of control, so there is actually an epilogue-thing that is written using a completely different structure, so that is why I hesitated to put it as the official fourth chapter. I dunno. I'll post it too. Plus, it also reveals Suga's last bet with Coach Ukai. 
> 
> 3\. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing and leaving kudos! You are lovely and I hope I finished it up okay <3
> 
> 4\. Come say hi on [tumblr!](http://gnetophyta.tumblr.com)


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